


and on this altar

by Cloudnine101



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blood, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Take it," Matt says, huskily. "Take my hand."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	and on this altar

It's three minutes after midnight. Foggy's covered in sweat - literally, coated. It's a head-to-toe kind of deal. Gasping, he reaches the wall of the alley. Matt's slumped against his shoulder.

The crack in the mask's gotten bigger - it's practically taking the whole thing up. Foggy crouches, lowering Matt with him, and swears, and says, "Murdock, how much are you _eating_?"

Matt barks out a laugh. It's tired. He must be exhausted. Funny thing is, Foggy's sympathy tin's empty right now. Matt's head lolls to the side. The mask's shielding the extent of the damage from Foggy, but it doesn't look nice. None of this is _nice_.

"Buddy, let's get you home," Foggy says.

Matt's hand clamps down onto his arm. "No," he says, "I don't - let me rest here. Please. I just - need a minute." Matt waves his hand, holding Foggy in place. The long line of his arm is flexed.

Foggy sighs. They end up on the ground, somehow, sitting in the dirt. The whole place smells of cigarettes. Foggy toys with the blood that's formed a crust on the end of his fingers.

Matt's head is thrown back. His throat's a long line, thin and pale. There's something hard about him - his lips are tight. His hand's loose, though, by his side, fingers unfurled. Foggy does a quick sweep - none of the fingers are broken, and, aside from the filth, the rest of Matt doesn't seem too bad - nothing Claire can't fix. He'll have to call her. He's got her number memorised.

"Take it," Matt says, huskily. "Take my hand."

Foggy looks at him. Matt's right hand's still in the same place, but his left is fisted on his lap. Matt's throat's working. He's swallowing hard.

"Yeah, sure," Foggy says. "Geez, these are cold. Lemme warm you up."

Leaning across, Foggy blows over Matt's knuckles. He does them one at a time, just to be safe. He can't stand the idea of Matt aching - and whatever Foggy's feeling right now, it doesn't matter, because Matt's been beaten up. Foggy'll give himself time for that later. He'll rant and he'll rave and he'll throw things. But for now, with Matt hurting, Foggy just isn't top priority.

Matt's breathing has slowed. He's rocking, swaying from side to side, and his shoulder jostles with Foggy's every second beat. Matt's saying something under his breath. Foggy can't make out the words. Matt's praying, he realises, and squeezes his eyes shut. There's pain beneath his ribs and it feels like it's spread, feels like it's coursing out through him. Foggy presses a hand to his chest.

"I care about you," Matt says. "I always have, and I always will. You should know that."

Foggy's breath is smoking. They'll freeze, sitting outside all night. Hell's Kitchen isn't exactly known for its warm and comforting atmosphere when you're beaten up on the sidewalk. Matt's hand is pulling away from his; Matt's moving to stand, teeth gritted. Foggy tugs him back down, so that Matt falls. Matt could fight him off, if he wanted to.

"I care about you, too," Foggy gets out, straining. "Not in the same way, in a - a different way. But I'm guessing you had that one figured out already."

Matt's head tilts. Foggy wipes a palm down his cheek. Matt's face is warm - flushed, maybe, but Foggy could be projecting. God, he wants him to be. He wants Matt to need him - to touch him. Isn't that sad? Pathetic, right? Foggy could scream.

"Foggy," Matt's saying.

"Don't apologise," Foggy tells him. He shakes his head. "Believe me, bud, you've got nothing - well, actually, scrap that. You've got a Hell of a lot to apologise for. But this wasn't down to - to the Devil, or whatever they're calling you. This was down to you. So, technically, I guess I could blame you, but I won't."

Matt's hand rests on his shoulder. Foggy squeezes his fingers into his palms and forces a smile. Matt knows he's lying, anyway - he said so, this one time, after a few too many beers: yeah, I can hear people's heartbeats. Pretty cool. Pretty much my superpower - which, basically, makes me a superhero. What'd you think to that?

"I love you," Matt says. "I love you a lot."

Foggy snorts. "God, don't say that, man. You can't - " He stands up. His hands are scraped. Matt looks a little lost. "Okay. So, I know that you're straight. I know _that_."

"I'm not straight," Matt says. "At least, I don't think I am. I've never actually - done anything with a guy, but - I want to."

Foggy thinks he feels his brain exploding against the walls of his skull. It's probably about to drip out through his ears. "Okay. So, bi and not into me. That takes the cake."

"I am bi," Matt says quickly, nodding, "and I am very much into you."

Foggy sits back down. All of the air's been sucked out of him. "Why didn't you think of telling me this? Like, ever?"

Matt shrugs. "I've gotten - confused, before. I've picked up cardiovascular signals incorrectly. And then your heartbeat flattened out around me."

Foggy runs a hand down his face. "Matty, that's because we've known each other for years. What did you want me to do, break out in hives every time you walk in the room?"

Matt smirks. "That would've been helpful." He flashes the grin at Foggy - that beautiful, soaring grin, that makes the insides of Foggy's chest turn to butter.

"Shut up," Foggy says, and hits his arm. Matt winces. "Wuss."

Quiet. There are footsteps echoing. Matt's tensed, every part of him stretched thin. His hands are by his sides, out of Foggy's in a second. He's getting ready to push up. The footsteps stop, and begin to retreat, and Matt slumps again. He pants wetly. His knees are nearly drawn up to his chest. Honestly, Foggy admires the leather - the colour of it, the shape. It's sleek. It keeps Matt safe. But right now, it isn't helping. Foggy can't tell where Matt's bleeding.

"Where are you hurting?" Foggy asks.

Matt angles his face away. "My ribs," he says, "my chest."

When he presses it, the front of Matt's suit comes away wet. Foggy gasps. "I'm getting Claire," he says, "come on, we've got to move. You have to go. Come on, Matt, come on, stay awake."

"I'm awake," Matt says, upright, then pitching sideways, "you don't need to worry."

"Yeah. My best - the man I love's bleeding out in an alley, and I have no reason to be concerned." Foggy presses a kiss into Matt's forehead, and Matt exhales, shakily, into his mouth, and Foggy kisses him. Matt's lips slip into his. Foggy can't help himself - he leans closer, and Matt flinches. "Oh. Oh, that must have hurt."

"Worth it," Matt says, trying for a smile and falling short.


End file.
